Chapter IV: The Mate's Yarn (3)

"No, indeed; I thought of Aunt Tomkins, but the truth is, I could not request her to do it without sending invitations to the whole family, which I concluded would not be advisable: there are so many of them, and as they would not be acquainted with the rest of the company, it seemed best not to have any of them. I thought, too, of old Mrs. Joyce, who sometimes does quilting and knitting for me, but she has a large family of grandchildren, some of whom she always drags with her when she goes to where there is any thing good to eat; and it would never do to have them poking their fingers into the refreshments. So it struck me that perhaps you might oblige me. You don't appear to care for parties, and as you would be a stranger in the room, it is not likely you would have much enjoyment. Of course, if I believed you would prefer the trouble of dressing, and taking your chance among the company, I would not ask it of you."

Nothing daunted by the glow of indignation which followed a look of astonishment on the face of Cousin Sabina, she paused for a reply. After a moment's reflection, Miss Incledon answered calmly, "I am your guest, Sarah--dispose of me as you please;" and returning her cap and white gloves to their boxes, she refastened her wrapper to enter upon the office assigned to her.

The party passed off with the crowding, crushing, talking and eating common to parties. The supper was a handsome one--for Mr. Smith wisely decided that if the thing must be done at all, it should be done well--and therefore he had hinted no restrictions to his wife as to the expense. Many "regrets" had been sent in, but still Mrs. Smith was at the post she had coveted for years--that of receiving a fashionable assemblage in her own house; and if her choicest guests courted her notice as little as they would have done any where else, she was too much elated and flustered, and overheated to think about it. One of her principal concerns was to keep her eye on her husband, who, being a shy, timid man, with very little tact, was not much calculated for playing the host on such an occasion. He had, however, been doing better than she expected, when, a little before supper, he wandered through the crowd to where she was standing, for the moment, alone, and asked, "Where is Cousin Sabina?"

"In the supper-room. It is necessary at such times to have some one behind the scenes, and I had to get her to remain in the supper-room, to watch that things went on properly; and, in particular, to see that none of the silver was carried off, nor the refreshments wasted after supper."

Mr. Smith looked disturbed, and exclaimed, rather too loudly, "Is it possible that you could ask a woman like Sabina Incledon to do such a thing! one of my most respectable relations, and a visiter in my house?"

"Don't speak so loudly. I left out all my own relations, and I dare say they would, any of them, have looked as creditably as Sabina Incledon. When we have established our own standing, Mr. Smith, it will be time enough for us to bring out such people as your Cousin Sabina. To be sure, if I had had any one to trust in her place, I should not have objected at all to her coming in."

Mrs. Smith was turning away, when she saw, at her elbow, Mrs. Goldsborough and Miss Pendleton, who must have overheard the conversation. To her it was the mortification of the evening.

The next morning at the breakfast-table Mrs. Smith was too much occupied in descanting upon the events of the night, describing the dresses, and detailing the commendations on different viands of the supper, to notice that Miss Incledon spoke but little, and when she did, with more dignity and gravity than usual. On rising from the table, she unlocked the sideboard, and taking from it a basket of silver, she said, "I would thank you, Cousin Sabina, to assort these forks and spoons for me. It will be something of a task, as they have to go to half a dozen different places. When you have got through I will look over them to see that all is right;" and she was hurrying off to commence some of the multifarious duties of the day.

"Excuse me, Sarah," said Miss Incledon; "I'll expect that a carriage will be here in a few minutes to take me into the country."

"Dear me!" exclaimed Mrs. Smith, looking disappointed and somewhat displeased; "I thought I should have your assistance in putting away things--I had no idea of your leaving us to-day."

"You may remember my telling you, Cousin Pelby," said Miss Incledon, addressing Mr. Smith, "that I would be but a few days with you. I took advantage of traveling in this direction to renew our old family intercourse; but the principal object of my journey was to visit a very particular friend, Mrs. Morgan Silsbee."

"Mrs. Morgan Silsbee!" said Mrs. Smith--"are you not mistaken, Cousin Sabina? I presume you mean Mrs. Edward Silsbee. Mrs. Morgan Silsbee lives ten or twelve miles out; their place is said to be magnificent, and I know that she and her husband drives a coach-and-four on state occasions. Mrs. Goldsborough made a splendid dinner for them a short time ago. Mrs. Edward Silsbee I have met often; I didn't know that you were acquainted with her."

"I am _not_ acquainted with Mrs. Edward Silsbee," said Miss Incledon, with dignity; "I mean her sister-in-law, Mrs. Morgan Silsbee. She is an old friend of mine, and I have been under engagement to her since I met her last summer, at the Springs, to make this visit. I had a note from her last night, written from one of the hotels, saying that she would stop for me this morning at nine or ten o'clock--your party preventing her from calling in person."

Had a halo suddenly appeared around the head of Cousin Sabina, Mrs. Smith could hardly have changed her countenance and manner more markedly. "If I had only known it," she exclaimed, "how gratified I should have been to have had an invitation, with my card, sent to her, and to have had her at my party. But, surely, Cousin Sabina, you will soon return to us?"

"I shall certainly pass through town on my way homeward, but will stop at a boarding-house," said Miss Incledon.

The conscious Mrs. Smith reddened violently, but was relieved by the interruption of a handsome carriage, though not the coach-and-four, stopping before her house. Miss Incledon stepped to the parlor-door, to answer the footman, who inquired for her.

"Mrs. Morgan Silsbee's compliments, ma'am," said the man, "and the carriage is at your service whenever you are ready. We are to take her up at Mrs. Goldsborough's, where she got out to wait for you."

It took but a moment for Cousin Sabina to reappear bonneted and shawled, and to have her baggage put on the carriage. Then kindly bidding Mr. Smith farewell, she gave her hand to his wife, escaping the embrace in preparation for her, and was rapidly driven away.

"You see there are some persons who can appreciate Cousin Sabina," said Mr. Smith; and afraid to wait for a reply, he hastened to his place of business.

"And so Cousin Sabina is the friend of Mrs. Morgan Silsbee, the friend of Mrs. Goldsborough!" said Mrs. Smith to herself, while a series of not very satisfactory reflections ran through her mind. But her attention was claimed by other things. What with putting away and distributing the fragments of the feast, washing and sending home table-furniture, gathering up candle ends, and other onerous duties, the day wore on. At last, late in the afternoon, with aching head and wearied limbs, she sat down in her rocking-chair in the dining-room to rest. A ring at the door-bell soon disturbed her. "Say I'm engaged, unless it is some person very particular," said she to the servant.

"It is Miss Debby Coggins, ma'am," said the colored girl, returning, with a grin; "I let her in, because she's very partic'lar."

Miss Deborah Coggins, from being connected in some way or other with each of the great families of the town, and having money enough not to be dependent on any of them, was what is called a privileged character--a class of individuals hard to be endured, unless they possess the specific virtue of good-nature, to which Miss Debby had no claim. She talked without ceasing, and her motto was to speak "the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth." She was of a thin figure, always dressed in rusty black silk, which must sometimes have been renewed or changed, though no one could ever tell when, and a velvet bonnet, of the same hue, with a peculiar lateral flare, which, however, was really made to look something like new once every three or four years. She wore a demi-wreath of frizzly, flaxen curls close above her shaggy eyebrows, which were of the same color; and her very long, distended nose was always filled with snuff, which assisted in giving a trombone sound to as harsh a voice as ever passed through the lips of a woman.

She had drawn up the blinds, and opened the sash of the windows when Mrs. Smith entered the front parlor. "How're you this evening, Mrs. Smith?" said she, in answer to the bland welcome she received; "I was just telling your black girl that if you ever should happen to have a party again, she should open the rooms and have the air changed better the next day; and as you are not used to such things yourself, I thought I might as well let you know it, too. I raised the windows myself. Now," she added, "the room is too cold to sit in, and I would prefer going to your dining-room, or wherever you were when I came in."

"Certainly, certainly, Miss Debby," said Mrs. Smith, marshaling the way.

"Stop!" said Miss Debby, "I want to take a look at your wall paper--I never noticed it before. I can't say I like your taste; though, no doubt, you took it for the sake of economy--ugly papers sometimes go very cheap."

"You are quite mistaken, I assure you, Miss Debby," began Mrs. Smith, eagerly.

"Well, it's of no consequence," interrupted Miss Debby, "only I heard Matilda Shipley say yesterday, that there would be no use in dressing much for Mrs. Pelby Smith's party, as her low rooms, with their dingy, dirt-colored paper, could never be lighted up to make any one look well."

Mrs. Smith cleared her throat, but said nothing, recollecting by this time that all retort or explanation was lost upon Miss Deborah Coggins. To change the subject she remarked, "How disappointed I was at your not coming last night, my dear Miss Debby--one of the friends I most wished to see."

"I have been rather sorry myself that I did not come, since I heard that the party turned out better than could have been expected. I supposed that there would have been a great many here that I did not know, and that my own set, mostly, would have stayed away, like myself, not caring much to meet them."

"What an idea, Miss Debby! there was scarcely one in the room that you did not know. My company was very select."

"So I was told to-day. Mrs. William Van Pelt said that you had invited every body that would not thank you, and, as she had been told, had left out those that had the best right to expect invitations. I should like to have had a share of the supper," continued Miss Debby. "I heard that you had worried yourself nearly to death preparing it, and that it was really good, considering that you were not used to such things. Young John Pendleton said that it made him some little amends for being forced to go to a place where he made a mistake every time he addressed his entertainers and called them Joneses."

Sorely wincing as Mrs. Smith was, she did not forget Miss Debby's notoriety for following close upon the heels of a party for a share of the good things left. Accordingly, she opened her sideboard, and produced a choice variety of her store.

"I suppose it is too late to get some of the ice cream?" said Miss Debby, losing no time in attacking what was set before her; "you have used it, or let the ice run out, I dare say?--though, now that I think of it, I made up my mind that I would not care to have any of it, for old Mrs. Longacre told me that what she got was bitter, from being made partly of milk, she supposed, that had been burnt in boiling."

This was more than Mrs. Smith could stand. "It is totally erroneous!" she exclaimed; "I used none but the purest cream, and that without boiling; I don't know how the old lady could have made such a mistake, unless it was that she got some of the almond, which, perhaps, had too much of the bitter-almond flavor for her taste."

"Perhaps so; and she said that she did not venture to taste the Charlotte-Russe, fearing it might turn out to be nothing but sponge-cake and custard, without jelly or whipped cream. But if it was all like this, nobody could complain of it;" and, absorbed in the gratification of her palate, Miss Debby gave her auditor a few minutes respite.

"Your party, on the whole, made something of a talk, Mrs. Smith," she resumed.

Mrs. Smith bowed and smiled, taking the observation for a compliment.

"I was out making calls the day the invitations went round. You know making calls is a business with me, when I undertake it. I commence directly after breakfast, and keep on till night, eating my dinner wherever I suppose dinner chances to be ready. Well, the first I heard of your intentions was from Mrs. Harvey, who said she wondered you could think yourself under obligations to give a party to Julia Goldsborough, though, to be sure, like some other of your devices, she supposed that was only a _ruse_; and she was surprised that the Goldsboroughs were willing to be cat's paws to help you along in 'society.'"

Mrs. Smith's face grew as red as the _bon bon_ paper she was nervously twisting.

"That was to Mrs. Nicolas and me," pursued Miss Debby; "and Mrs. Nicolas wondered how upon earth the Pelby Smiths could afford to give a party at all. She concluded that you would have to live on bacon and potatoes for the remainder of the season, to retrieve the cost, and would have to turn that changeable silk of yours the third time."

"Oh, I don't mind what people say," observed Mrs. Smith, with a distorted smile.

"I know you don't, or, at least, that you don't resent any thing toward persons of such standing as those two, or I would not have repeated the conversation. But, is it true, that you had some trouble to get the party out of your husband?"

"Mr. Smith and I always act in concert," said Mrs. Smith, looking dutiful.

"Do you? well, that's a happy thing. I understood quite the contrary, though, that you always carried the day, from what Mrs. Joe Culpepper said. I was at her house when your invitation came in, and after she had opened it, she exclaimed, with her sly laugh, 'Only think, Miss Debby, that manoeuvring, pushing Mrs. Pelby Smith has at last worried her poor husband into giving a party!' and from the way she pitied Mr. Smith, I inferred she must have some reason to believe that if you did not wield a pretty high hand, he would not be quite such a man of wax as he seems."

Had Miss Debby been any thing less than a relation in common to the "Goldsboroughs, the Pendletons, the Longacres, and the Van Pelts," Mrs. Smith would have been tempted to request her to leave the house; but as it was, her policy taught her to endure whatever Miss Debby might choose to inflict. So she leaned back hopelessly in her chair, while the old lady snapped and cracked a plate of candied fruits with a vigor of which her teeth looked incapable.

"Had you any of your borrowed things broken?--for I heard that you had to borrow nearly every thing," resumed her torturer.

"Not any thing at all but two or three plates, which can easily be replaced," replied Mrs. Smith, not knowing what next to expect on that point. But Miss Debby tacked about.

"I believe," said she, "you had a visiter staying with you for a few days?"

"Yes--a cousin of Mr. Smith's--Miss Sabina Incledon--"

"That's the name," interrupted Miss Debby, nodding; "the person that went out home with Mrs. Morgan Silsbee, this morning, I presume?"

"The same," replied Mrs. Smith, feeling her consequence looking up; "Cousin Sabina is a very particular friend of Mrs. Morgan Silsbee, who for a long time had been soliciting the visit."

"Then, surely, she could not have been the person you set to watching the kitchen and supper-room! Susan Goldsborough and Lydia Pendleton were talking about it, and repeating to each other what they overheard of a conversation between yourself and your husband, who seemed greatly shocked that you had done it. Susan Goldsborough remarked that if she had known that you had so little sense as to undervalue such a woman in that way, or so little feeling and good-breeding as to violate the laws of common hospitality and politeness so grossly, she would assuredly have declined the party for Julia when you proposed it to her."

Mrs. Smith had grown quite pale, and could only answer tremulously, "What a misconstruction!--dear me--it was Cousin Sabina's wish--how strange a mistake."

"It certainly is strange if they were so mistaken, and stranger still that a woman of so much dignity, and so accustomed to society as Miss Incledon, should have preferred watching your servants to taking her proper place among your guests. I thought to myself whilst they were talking, that it seemed hardly consistent with your usual way of doing things, to put upon such duty a person who in all probability would soon be Mrs. Colonel Raynor, and the aunt of Mrs. Morgan Silsbee. I shouldn't wonder if the match came off in a month."

"Cousin Sabina likely to be married in a month!--and to Colonel Raynor!" exclaimed Mrs. Smith, startled out of her usual tact, and her lips growing yet bluer.

"Bless me! didn't you know the story?" said Miss Debby, in her turn looking surprised; "they met last summer at the Springs, and the colonel was so pleased with her unpretending good sense, excellent principles, and superior mental cultivation, that he proposed to her before she went away. She deferred her answer until she and his children should have become acquainted. You know he is a widower with three daughters--two of them married. She has been in correspondence ever since with Mrs. Morgan Silsbee, the colonel's niece, who has been trying to make the match, and who, that her cousins may meet her, has insisted upon the present visit. They are lovely young women, the daughters, whom she cannot fail to like, and as they know how to appreciate such a woman as Miss Incledon, there is no doubt of the marriage taking place. It will be a great thing for you, Mrs. Smith; the connection will do more for you than a dozen parties. And such a charming place as you will have to visit! The colonel lives like a prince, and at only a few hours' drive from here. You can go there in the summer with your children, and meet a constant run of company more choice than at a watering-place, and all without any expense. When your cousin comes back to town, be sure to let me know, that I may call upon her. Susan Goldsborough is fretted enough that she was not apprised of her being here, and so are some of the Longacres; they blame you with it all."

Mrs. Smith did not attempt to reply, and Miss Debby rose to go.

"It is getting late," said she, "and I must walk. If you have no objection I will take those slices of fruit and almond cake, and a paper of candied fruit and _bon bons_ with me--and perhaps you can spare some more Malaga grapes--or could you send them home for me by one of your servants? I should like to stop at Susan Goldsborough's to tell her that you knew nothing about the good fortune in prospect for your cousin, and it is probable she will wish me to stay for tea."

Mrs. Smith restrained herself until she had escorted her visiter to the door, and then returning to her rocking-chair, she indulged in a fit of weeping that looked very much like hysterics. Her most prominent thought was, "If I had only given the party to Cousin Sabina!"

This she had ample opportunity to reiterate--for time proved to her that the prime object of her grand effort had failed--those who comprised her select party never including her in any of theirs. More particularly did it recur to her, when, some months afterward, Mrs. Colonel Raynor, though she sometimes stopped to exchange a few kindly words with Mr. Smith at his place of business, evaded every invitation to his dwelling, while she went the rounds of sumptuous fêting among the Goldsboroughs, Pendletons, Longacres & Co.

SPIRIT-VOICES.

BY CHARLES W. BAIRD.

"Hast thou heard ever a spirit-voice,
As in morning's hour it stole
Speaking to thee from the home of its choice,
Deep in the unfathomed soul:
Telling of things that the ear hath not heard,
Neither the mind conceived;
Bringing a balm in each gentle word
Unto the heart bereaved?"

O, I have heard it in days of the spring,
When gladness and joy were rife.
'Twas a voice of hope, that came whispering
Its story of strength and life.
It told me that seasons of vigor and mirth
Follow the night of pain;
And the heaven-born soul, like the flowers of earth,
Withers, to live again!

"Hast thou heard ever a spirit-voice,
At the sunny hour of noon;
Bidding the soul in its light rejoice,
For the darkness cometh soon;
Telling of blossoms that early bloom
And as early pine and fade;
And the bright hopes that must find a tomb
In the dark, approaching shade?"

Yes, I have heard it in summer's hour,
When the year was in its strength:
'T was a voice of faith, and it spoke with power
Of joys that shall come at length.
It told how the holy and beautiful gain
Fruition of peace and love;
And the blest ones, freed from this world of pain,
Flourish and ripen above.

"Hast thou heard ever a spirit-voice,
At the solemn noon of night,
When the fair visions of memory rise
Robed in their fancied light.
When the loved forms that are cold and dead
Pass in their train sad and slow;
And the waking soul, from its pleasures fled,
Turns to its present wo?"

Oft have I heard it when day was o'er;
And the welcome tones I knew:
Like the voices of those who have gone before,
The Beautiful and the True.
And it turned my thoughts to that blissful time
When ceaseth cold winter's breath;
When the free spirit shall seek that clime
Where there is no more death.

THE ISLETS OF THE GULF;

OR, ROSE BUDD.

Ay, now I am in Arden; the more fool
I; when I was at home I was in a better place; but
Travelers must be content. AS YOU LIKE IT.

BY THE AUTHOR OF "PILOT," "RED ROVER," "TWO ADMIRALS," "WING-AND-WING," "MILES WALLINGFORD," ETC

[Entered, according to the Act of Congress, in the year 1846, by J. Fenimore Cooper, in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States, for the Northern District of New York.]

(_Concluded from page 98_.)